


wait for it

by verity



Series: use your words, derek [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Porn With Feels, Switching, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek reaches back and tugs the phone free of the charger, the notification is still visible, the message just one line below Stiles's name.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>do you want to fuck me?</i></p><p> </p><p>The words glow for another few seconds before the screen goes dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wait for it

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to fleete for the speedy IRL beta and generally being the bestest writing buddy a gal can ask for. Thanks to clio-jlh and mijra for the cheerleading and hand-holding. <3

It's a Wednesday, 2pm, and Derek is sprawled across the couch, reading Isaac's old copy of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. He's a slow reader—Laura used to tease him about it, gently—but he likes to read, and there's time for it now.

"Is that one of the Narnia books?" Erica says, peering over his shoulder. She's home between classes at BHCC to do a few loads of laundry and check on Miss Piggy. The guinea pig has brought out some weird and heretofore unimagined maternal instinct in the whole pack, even Derek, who lets her run around the living room and feeds her snacks when no one else is home. Derek refuses to use Miss Piggy's other name. 

"Don't start." Derek closes the book, leaving his index finger in place to mark the page.

Erica pokes his shoulder. "Hey, I read _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ like ten times in middle school, and Boyd totally has a boner for the chick who played Susan in the movies."

"Is there a purpose to this conversation?" Derek says.

"Move my jacket over in half an hour, okay?" She tousles his hair before she gets up.

Derek sighs, resisting the urge to pat his hair back into place. "What's the magic word?"

"You bled all over it, you can put it in the dryer," Erica says. She gives him a little wave as she goes out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Miss Piggy is snuffling happily at her broccoli and Derek is halfway through Chapter 3. His phone rattles on the end table behind him and chimes. When Derek reaches back and tugs the phone free of the charger, the notification is still visible, the message just one line below Stiles's name.

_do you want to fuck me?_

The words glow for another few seconds before the screen goes dark.

—

Stiles asks Derek a lot of questions, but they're either pointed or rhetorical. In the bedroom, it's _what do you want, do you want this, do you like this,_ in a crisis, it's _what can you hear, can you do this,_ and the rest of the time it's stuff like, _why the hell would anyone think combining wolfsbane and shrooms was a good idea?_ or _who_ doesn't _like_ Space Ghost Coast to Coast _?_. They're not cryptic and Derek always has Stiles's delivery to go on.

Derek moves Erica's jacket over to the dryer before he texts back, _Now?_

The phone buzzes again almost immediately. _I'm try to study here jfc._ And again— _unless you want to come down here bc I've walled myself into my room with books like an anchorite_

An anchorite?

_you could come sully my virtue_

—

The drive to Davis takes about an hour and a half, even though Derek's managed to hit that golden hour in the afternoon where there's not much traffic on the road. Derek listens on NPR the whole way; it's the least terrible option. Stiles has moved since the last time Derek was here, so Derek has to check the directions on his phone five times and wait downstairs for one of Stiles's neighbors to let him in. Apparently he wasn't joking about being walled in.

"Hey, I'm Eunice, you must be Derek," she says, holding the door open for him. She's short, athletic, shiny dark hair pulled back into a messy braid. "Go on up, I'm on my way out."

"Hi," Derek says. "I'll just—"

"5C, take the stairs, the elevator's stuck on 2." And then she's gone.

Stiles's single opens off the hallway instead of a small common room like his old one. The door's unlocked, but Derek has to push his way in, books toppling in the door's wake. "Hey," Stiles calls out to him. "Sorry, I figured that the harder it was to leave, the more likely I was to finish this paper by 5, or ever."

"What if you have to—"

"Oh, there's a bathroom," Stiles says, and Derek can see him now, turned around in his desk chair. "Shared, and I could probably sneak out through Kenny's room, but he usually keeps his end locked and I don't remember where I put my spare set of picks."

"Since when have you gotten competent enough to need a spare set?" Derek says. "Or open a door?"

"Shut up, I live in hope." Stiles frowns. "I didn't expect you to get here this soon, sorry, I still have to—"

There's only a few books on the bed. "I can wait."

Stiles scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, of course, I mean—whatever you want."

"It's fine," Derek says. He climbs over the book barricade to lie down on Stiles's bed, the vinyl mattress cover beneath the Batman sheets squeaking under him. Derek didn't go to college, but he heard horror stories about dorm mattresses from Laura. This one's firm, at least, and the sheets smell like Stiles hasn't washed them in a while, sweat and come and Cheetos. They don't smell like anyone but Stiles; Derek wasn't expecting that.

"Are you going to take a nap? I've got normal people books, too," Stiles says. "And my PSP. If you're bored."

Derek turns on his side, rubs his cheek against Stiles's pillow. "I'm okay," he says.

He doesn't fall asleep, just listens to Stiles's fingers on the keyboard, pauses punctuated by quick bursts of activity, with a few longer breaks to flip through the books that Stiles has by his side, pages releasing the acrid chemical scent of new books and the sweet vanilla of older ones in turn. After a few minutes, Derek takes off his pants and gets all the way under the covers. He can hear Stiles's heart speed up, a sharp breath after Derek's belt buckle sounds dully against the carpeted floor, and then Stiles is back to work again, movements quicker than before.

"Okay, done, turned it in," Stiles says, sooner than Derek expected. "I don't have anything due for a whole fifteen hours, and—are you scenting my bed?"

"It's cold," Derek says. "You sent me a text."

Stiles scrubs his face with one hand. "I did indeed." Carefully, he gets up and picks his way through the minefield on the floor. "And you drove all the way down here to fuck me."

This is what Derek was missing from the text message, the way Stiles says _fuck me_ , the emphasis. Stiles is just watching him, waiting it out. "Oh," Derek says.

Stiles sits next to him on the bed, turned toward him so their thighs brush together. "I thought I was pretty clear."

"I didn't think you had any virtue left to, uh—"

"Sully," Stiles says. "Well, I do. And I was thinking about it, and I thought that maybe this was a problem, that you could help me out with it. If you wanted."

"I don't know." Derek couldn't do what Stiles does to him, he wouldn't even know where to begin. Stiles might have started all of this, but Derek likes letting Stiles being in control, that it's safe for Derek to give that up with him, to him. "I don't know what you're asking."

"Okay." Stiles twists his hands together in his lap, nervous, jittery. "I want you to put your dick in my ass. And I'll tell you how to do it, but you're going to have to—you know how it feels, you know more about it than me."

"I've never put my dick in anyone's ass," Derek says.

"It's not that complicated," Stiles says. "Trust me."

—

In one of the plastic storage containers under his bed, Stiles has a drawer full of supplies, individual condoms and little packets of lube. Some of the packets are slightly sticky and everything smells like fake strawberry. "Do I want to know?" Derek asks, holding up a licorice-flavored condom warily.

"They're always giving these things out and I like to be prepared," Stiles says. "There's wolfsbane and mountain ash a drawer down, you just can't smell them because of the gross lube spill."

"Was that on purpose?"

Stiles's eyes flick up to meet Derek's. "Let's go with that. Absolutely."

"You have a lot of this stuff." Derek drops the licorice condom back in the drawer. "Do you—go through it?"

"Wow, are you seriously—you smelled my _bed_ , Derek." Stiles's shoulders hunch in, stiffen. "Why would you think I was fucking other people?"

"Why would I think you weren't?" Derek says.

"Uh, we've been doing this for a year?" Stiles stares at him. "What did you think was going on?"

Derek shrugs.

"Oh my god," Stiles says. "I don't even—I've had sex with three people, unless you count that time I gave Scott a handjob when we were playing Truth or Dare, and that doesn't count. I'm not, like, Casanova."

"That's more people than me." Derek picks up one of the little packets of lube, fiddles with it; it's water-based, like the one in his bedroom. The liquid bulges beneath the foil under the pressure of his fingers.

"Do not even—" Stiles snatches the lube away from him. "You are—I don't understand you, I don't get you. When we're not fucking, you are a different _person_. You invited me and my dad to Thanksgiving!"

"You always come to Thanksgiving," Derek says. "Scott comes to Thanksgiving."

"We're not talking about Scott," Stiles says, voice low.

"Do you want me to fuck you or not?" Derek says.

Stiles glares at him. "I want you to fuck me."

Derek takes the packet of lube back.

—

They undress separately. Stiles looks away but Derek watches him, the strong lines of his body emerging from under his baggy hoodie and loose shirt, his boxers and worn-at-the-knees jeans. He's still peeling off his socks when Stiles climbs back onto the bed and lies down, folding his arms behind his head. "Ready when you are," Stiles says. "Any time now."

Derek drops his socks on top of his jeans, briefs, and t-shirt; his jacket is draped, haphazard, over the back of Stiles's desk chair. He scoots back on the bed and Stiles's toes trace a line alone his thigh. When Derek looks over, Stiles is looking up at the ceiling, one leg stretched out toward Derek, the other bent at the knee. Stiles's dick is half-hard. Derek has never seen him look bored before. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he says.

"Yes, I said yes, come on." Stiles's heel stutters against the mattress; Derek catches his ankle. Stiles's skin is cool, warming under Derek's hand.

Derek lets go after a few seconds and climbs up the mattress, over Stiles. "I said your room was cold." He pauses to pull the crumpled flat sheet up from under the comforter and drag both along with him. Batman has seen worse.

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles says. His hand comes up to cup the back of Derek's head when Derek tucks his face against Stiles's neck, breathing out against Stiles's throat. "You never get cold unless it's freezing out, dude. And I've seen you take the trash out in the snow before. Barefoot. Shirtless."

"I was doing laundry," Derek says, sliding his leg in between Stiles's parted ones. 

"Were your shoes in the laundry?" Stiles tries to laugh, but it turns into a choked exhale when Derek's fingers skate over his dick. "No? That's what I—that's what I thought."

"I was doing laundry earlier." Derek starts stroking him, slowly, thumb teasing just below the head of Stiles's dick. He's jerked Stiles off before; Stiles gave him explicit instructions. "I was thinking about you then."

"Do you have some laundry kink that I—should I be taking notes for later? Is this your idea of sexy talk?"

"You ask too many questions," Derek says. He presses his lips against the corner of Stiles's mouth and listens to Stiles breathe.

"Do I?" Stiles says.

"Tell me what to do," Derek says.

—

It takes them a few minutes to figure out a position on Stiles's long, narrow bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking beneath them. They end up with Stiles's knees bent and Derek crouching between them, slicking up his fingers. Stiles makes Derek get himself ready sometimes, alone in his bed before Stiles comes over, or while Stiles is looking but not touching. It's different touching someone else's asshole. His fingers brush up against it, once, twice, before Stiles whines, "Come on, it's seriously—it's not that—"

"I don't want to hurt you." Derek says. He pushes one finger in tentatively. Derek doesn't actually need that much prep, but Stiles likes to work him open—Stiles always likes to draw everything out. It's weird for Derek to set the pace. Slow is good, though. He doesn't know what Stiles likes. Maybe Stiles doesn't know what Stiles likes. "Have you ever—done this to yourself?"

"Sort of." Stiles's face is screwed up, concentrating. He's still clamped down tight on Derek's finger. "Like, one time? It wasn't—exciting. It just felt like I put a finger up my ass."

"Okay," Derek says.

"It feels like that now." Stiles's mouth turns down.

It's hard for Derek to look Stiles in the face when he's got a finger inside him, and Stiles is so hot and _tight_ —too tight, yeah, but—this was another thing that Derek didn't know he wanted, Stiles clenching down on him, yielding, trusting. "You have to relax," he says. "You told me that."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't my ass," Stiles says.

Derek squeezes Stiles's hip with his free hand. "You can still—"

"No," Stiles says. "I mean, yes. Keep going." He takes a deep breath, followed by a long exhale, and Derek eases his finger further inside. It takes another minute before Stiles relaxes enough to give Derek some freedom of movement. "It doesn't—you seem like you like it. A lot."

"I do." Derek adds another finger. He's getting hard, now, too, getting into it. Stiles's dick has softened a little bit, but at least he's not staring at the ceiling anymore.

"Come _on_." Of course, Stiles is already getting impatient. "Seriously—"

"This is what you do to me," Derek says, crooking his fingers inside Stiles, exploring, until he finds the place that makes Stiles inhale sharply. "You don't let me—you make me wait for it."

"Well, yeah," Stiles says. "Fuck, that feels _weird_ , I don't know whether I—"

"It feels weird at first," Derek says. "Maybe you should—touch yourself."

Stiles frowns at him. "You could do that."

"I'm busy." Derek's still at two fingers, opening Stiles up. Stiles is starting to respond to him, hips lifting off the mattress, and Derek wants to—he wants to be _in_ Stiles, buried in him, to make Stiles make those little satisfied noises he always makes, quieter and softer than Derek would have thought, if he'd ever thought about it at all.

"Your mouth's not busy," Stiles says. "You can multi-task."

That's familiar ground. "Fine," Derek says. He leans forward and takes Stiles's dick into his mouth. Blowing Stiles and fingering him at the same time is a little awkward, but Stiles is gasping, chest heaving, and, yeah, Derek can figure this out. When he gives Stiles a little teeth, Stiles bucks into his mouth, clutching at Derek's hair.

"I want to fuck your mouth, oh my god, you—" Stiles closes his eyes. "Or maybe—maybe you'd better fuck me, because I'm going to—"

"Fine," Derek says, pulling off. Somehow, he's worked three fingers into Stiles's ass without really noticing. "Let me—" Stiles makes a sad little sound when Derek pulls away to roll on a condom. Derek's hands are shaking; he drops the condom when he tries to rip it open the first time.

"Get in me," Stiles says. "Right now. What's taking you—"

Somehow, Derek manages to line himself up between Stiles's thighs, to push in carefully and give Stiles time to adjust. "I'm—are you—"

"I don't remember your dick being this big," Stiles says. "I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that."

"How are you still talking?" Derek says, control slipping, and that's it, he's in all the way. "Sorry—"

Stiles shifts, lifts his legs to wrap around Derek's waist and pull him in tighter. "Stop apologizing. Just—oh my god—keep doing—that. Do it."

Derek stops worrying about whether he's doing this right because Stiles is _writhing_ under him, his hands trying to find purchase on Derek's back, nails scraping beneath Derek's shoulderblades. When Derek reaches a hand between them and wraps it around Stiles's dick, Stiles stops breathing for a second, and then he's coming, thick and hot, all over Derek's hand, and Derek's coming a few seconds later, and it's—it's hard to imagine that this is what it feels like for Stiles when he does this, with their positions reversed. 

Stiles's eyes are shut; Derek pulls out, ties off the condom, chucks it at the trash. He misses.

—

"So, are we having a touching moment where you took my ass virginity, or are you just tired?" Stiles mumbles into Derek's collarbone a while later. They're wrapped up around each other because even as a skinny as Stiles is, the bed's still a twin XL. On top of the base note of fake strawberry, the room smells like sex, and Derek, and the way his scent mixes with Stiles's, sinking into the sheets.

"Touching moment?" Derek says.

"We are literally touching," Stiles says. His ankle is hooked around Derek's; one of Derek's arms is trapped under Stiles's neck, the other holding Stiles to him so Stiles won't fall off the bed and get a concussion from books. Sadly, this would not be the first time.

Derek puts his nose in Stiles's hair and doesn't say anything. 

"Great." Stiles sighs. "Well, I'll—I still haven't written that paper on _Lysistrata_ yet. I should probably get on that." He doesn't move.

"When was the last time you slept?" Derek says. "Ate something other than beef jerky and Cheetos? Do you live on Cheetos?"

"Look, I forgot my grocery list the last time I went to Costco, and also, I was with Scott." Stiles rubs his nose against Derek's chest. "Cheetos are the king of cheese-flavored snacks."

"You should do your laundry."

"You could do my laundry," Stiles says.

"No," Derek says.

—

When Derek gets home, Erica has taken over his spot on the couch so she can watch _Burn Notice_ reruns and Isaac is making beef stew. Boyd is still out—probably at the library—but he usually makes it back before dinner; they eat pretty late.

"You smell." Erica raises an eyebrow. "Wait, did you get a booty call? Did you _answer_ a booty call?"

"Have you seen the water bill?" Derek says, rifling through the envelopes on the coffee table. In theory, there's a mail rack by the front door, but in practice, it all gets thrown on the table in the living room.

"You haven't even showered, this is too cute," Erica says, practically cooing.

"Derek, come taste this," Isaac calls from the kitchen. "I think I put in too much cumin."

The water bill finally turns up, buried under last month's _Bon Appetit_. "Coming," Derek says. Erica smirks at him.

He's about to climb into bed when he notices a missed alert on his phone. _we should do that again sometime, I could tie you to the radiator_

The rebuilt house has HVAC; Derek doesn't even know who has radiators these days aside from Scott. _Sure,_ he texts back. _goodnight_

His phone pings again a few minutes later. _that was totally a moment_

_Shouldn't you be working on your paper?_

_I didn't know you cared :D_

Derek turns the light off and lies in the dark for a while before he reaches for his phone again. _:)_ , he types; then he deletes it. _Go write_

That's good enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, that's it, that's the end. <3 (um, I think? probably)
> 
> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
